


Jazz, Liquor, and Voices from an Otherwordly Plane

by furchte_die_schildkrote



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furchte_die_schildkrote/pseuds/furchte_die_schildkrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Favourite, Zephine, and Dahlia run a phony psychic business out of a Jazz Age lesbian bar. When a newcomer to the bar, Fantine, begins offering her own psychic services, Favourite and Zephine decide to scope out the competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz, Liquor, and Voices from an Otherwordly Plane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/gifts).



> Happy Halloween to my recipient, Carmarthen!
> 
> There is a Part 2 in the works that should be up sometime before author reveals!

“Remember that bird a few nights back? That one who was reading fortunes?” Zephine asked Favourite, as she reclined back on her arm, resting against the bar. Zephine nodded her head towards a stool table at the edge of the scuffed-up dance floor. “She’s come back. See, over there, laying out cards for Edith.” 

“Any word on her?” Favourite asked. She, Dahlia, and Zephine ran a spectacularly successful business that offered services in all things occult, spiritual, and in vogue. It was not as financially lucrative as rum running for one of the most popular lesbian bars in New York City, but it gained them invitations to some of the most exciting and exclusive parties along the East Coast. Amazing what some dramatic sighs, a faked French accent, a few theatrical effects, and a well-timed fainting spell can accomplish. 

Their operation was well established, but any newcomer was new competition, and there was very little room for competition .

“French—real French, too, by the sound of it, not that this crowd would know the difference, “ Zephine added with a laugh. “Poor. She may be new to the city. Definitely new to the clubs. It doesn't sound like she's close with anyone yet. She's been around to a few different clubs the past few nights, flirting some, drinking some, dropping mentions of her occult services here and there.”

“Any name?”

“None that I know.” Her name was Fantine. 

“What do you make of her?” Zephine asked.

Instead of answering, Favourite just leaned back against the bar table. A spark of mischief danced in Favourite’s eye. “Come dance with me, darling.”

Barely leaving Zephine enough time to take one more swig of gin and stash her flask, Favourite took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor. With a gentle pull, she pulled Zephine in close, letting her hand rest against the curve of Zephine’s back, and scooping her hand under Zephine’s. The slow swing of the brass band led them in a gently swaying dance. The soft, warm light mixed with the haze of cigarette smoke that filled the club. They floated through a shroud of smoke and liquor fumes. It was suffocating and intimate and perfect. Favourite shifted to pull Zephine into an even closer embrace, resting her in the crook of Zephine’s neck--a position that offered both a pleasant intimacy and a stealthy view of the table where Edith and Fantine sat. 

Favourite watched the booth over Zephine’s shoulder. As she watched, it became clear that the interaction between the two girls was not going in a favorable direction for Fantine.

“I don’t want cards. I want you to read future on my hand,” Edith said, pushing her hand at the girl, palm up.  “Like Ruth had done at Madame Lenore’s. I ain’t paying you for some card trick.” 

“I am sorry, truly I am,” the girl responded, sporting a look so sincerely apologetic it could melt the Devil’s stone heart. “I—I do not know Ruth or Madame Lenore or what methods she uses, but palms do not read to me like that. They can tell me about you as a person, maybe even things you do not realize yourself, but never have I seen a decent fortune in someone’s hand.” 

“I read all about this sort of business. They say palms are more reliable than anything.”

“Again, I am very sorry, but what I was taught is that fortune changes so often and so easily, palms are a good as useless. And besides, the most reliable fortune telling methods are closely tied with communicating with the spirits that wander this world. They are not confined by time and place as we are, and so they can serve as eyes where we cannot see. These spirits cannot communicate through the lines in your palm.”

The argument continued along this vein, and Favourite concluded that they would face no competition from this girl, and she did not have an ounce of business sense. Poor thing would not last a week on her own in this line of work. It was really a shame. Her cloying sincerity was almost endearing, but it was guaranteed to kill her career faster than a shot of too-cheap moonshine. Favourite had met her share of occultists who seemed to genuinely believe that they could commune with spirits and glimpse the future, but even the most ardent of them understood that what most clients wanted--more than an authentic ghostly encounter or an accurate fortune telling--was a comforting lie and a good show.

Favourite also concluded that the girl was remarkably pretty. Her eyes had a sparkle in them that put her champagne to shame. Her pearly smile could make birds sing. Her short, golden hair had a gentle curl to it that perfectly framed her face, and the light seemed to catch in it like a fucking halo. Every move she made seemed to give off a sense of innocence and sincerity and playfulness.

Damn.

Then a blast from the trumpet led into a faster, noisier song. It was no longer an ideal cover for sizing up Fantine, but that did not matter. Favourite had already made her judgments. Left to her own devices, she would crash and burn without posing a sniff of competition. Favourite and Zephine had nothing further to do, besides drink and dance the night away.

And yet Favourite walked right towards the table where Edith and Fantine sat, still arguing. She put a wobble and a playful twirl in her step, crafting a new character for herself. By the time she reached the table, she had become a very tipsy long-lost friend of Fantine. 

After a quick peck to Fantine's cheek, Favourite took a gamble and broke into a spitfire mixture of niceties and borderline gibberish in the most rapid French she could manage. A few gentle touches to Fantine's arm added an apparent friendship and familiarity. Mercifully, Fantine did not call out the fraud, and her stunned expression could easily read as surprise at finding an old friend in a lesbian club on the other side of the Atlantic. Looking at Edith's confused face, she saw that her gamble had payed off.

“I am sorry,” Favourite said as she turned towards Edith, playing up her faked French accent. She offered her a quick exit from the uncomfortable conversation. “You do not speak French?”

“I'm afraid I don't, but don't mind me. I'll let you two catch up,” Edith said, with a quick nod to Fantine before she stood up and left.

Favourite took Edith's seat across from Fantine, and Fantine leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms defensively, trying to smile through her confusion.

“Who are you?” Fantine asked, allowing their conversation to continue in French.

“Favourite. I'm the one responsible for finding that champagne you're drinking.” Letting her penchant for the melodramatic show on her face, she continued, “More importantly, I am a fellow enthusiast of the occult.” 

Fantine perked up at this. Her defensiveness dropped. Her eyes came alive. A sense of hopeful curiosity spread across her face, and Favourite was bewitched. 

“One psychic to another, that performance could use some work,” Favourite said, teasing Fantine, as well as steeling herself against her beguiling smile. 

“What she wanted was impossible for me.”

Favourite shrugged. “Sometimes you just have to tell them what they want to hear. That's show business.”

“But that's not how it works.”

They don't care about what is and isn't possible. If they did, they wouldn't be going to a psychic, Favourite wanted to reply. But then she thought of all the times when customers came to her, desperate for impossible answers. Mourning widows wanting to hear from their departed husbands one final time. Worried parents desperate to know if their son was killed in battle or if his letters were simply lost. Favourite would play her part for them all the same, but those sorts clients left her feeling sick and uneasy, and performance never seemed to fully convince them. 

“And sometimes that honesty and conviction will be exactly what someone needs,” Favourite finally said, looking Fantine in the eyes, doing her best to strip away her layers of masks and pretense to show the most simply kind and encouraging expression she could muster.

“Thank you.”

“Which brings me to a proposal I've got for you. Me and a couple of other girls here have got a business partnership of sorts. I read the fortunes, contact the spirits, all that jazz. Zephine and Dahlia work backstage, you could say. They manage the more theatrical effects, especially during the seances. Broken pipes, flickering lights, odd smells, moving objects.” With a smile, she added, “The spirits alone can't always be relied upon to put on a good show.”

It was probably a little reckless to spill trade secrets to this girl, Favourite thought. In fact, it was downright impetuous, but the happy glow of the drinks she had finished mixed with the flutters in her stomach she felt each time their eyes met to convince her that she could trust Fantine.

Fantine looked on silently, her face a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. 

“Anyhow, the proposal I've got is for you to work a couple clients with us. No commitment, just see how you like us and how we like you. We could use another partner with the sight, especially someone as serious as you, and you could use someone who understands show business. I think it could work. What do you say?” Favourite gave a tentative smile. Zephine and Dahlia would not be pleased with Favourite pulling such a clueless and inexperienced girl into their business, but Favourite could not help herself.

Fantine considered the offer for several moments, pursing her lips and knitting her brow. In the end, her curiosity won out.

“Fine,” she said, her face revealing a growing excitement.

A beaming smile broke out on Favourite's face. “Excellent. You should come by the club tomorrow afternoon—around 2—for a practice run. We have a room upstairs.” Then Favourite put on a more sultry persona, and switched the conversation to English. “And one last thing. You got a name, doll?”

“Fantine,” she responded, laughing at the sudden change in Favourite's demeanor.

“Fantine. I like that,” Favourite said, standing up to leave. She continued her sultry tone as she said, “Well, Miss Fantine, I look forward to working with you.” 

And then she left, as Fantine was still laughing. She thought of walking back. Of kissing Fantine properly on the lips, so she could taste the champagne she had been drinking. Of inviting her onto the dance floor and swinging and rocking until they could not stand any longer. Of asking her to come back to her room for more drinks and some privacy. Instead, kept walking, content for now with the memory of Fantine's musical laugh, and the promise of the opportunity to kiss and dance and play in the not-so-distant future.


End file.
